Crazy Lady

There's a crazy lady who lives in my building. Today her Fed Ex package got delivered to me by accident, by our building managers. (For some reason, Fed Ex doesn't give us packages directly; they all have to go through the main office.) I saw the package at my front door, but I was on my way out, so I put it right inside my apartment and left.

An hour later, I'm fielding desperate phone calls from the building managers' office. Crazy Lady is hyperventilating about the package. She's been told that they accidentally delivered it to me, and that they'll contact me to see when I'll be home, but this isn't good enough for Crazy Lady, who threatens to call the police unless the package is put in her hands RIGHT NOW. She is apparently very intimidating; at least, she has the building people thoroughly cowed.

Meanwhile, I'm about half an hour's drive away, where I was planning to get some work done. I suppose I could have been a hard-ass (and probably should have been) and told the building managers that it wasn't my problem and I wasn't going to make a special trip home just because THEY misdelivered a package. But instead, I rolled over into my natural doormat form. And here I am, back at home.